Shadows of the Past
by Chef Erica
Summary: A man of Marguerite's past hunts her down, can her friends save her form him and herself? I'm finally finished, i hope the ending doesn't disappoint anyone, let me know what you think, do I have a future as a writer?
1. The Bad Day

            This had not been Marguerite's day. First, she had been chased by raptors at least three miles, then she slipped down a rocky slope in a skirt, which decided to slide up here hips the whole way down, at the bottom she fell face first in a mud hole with Roxton and Malone landing on top of her. One of her favorite rings came off in the mud, and the terrible twins thought her mud bath was funny, IT WASN'T! Back at the tree house that afternoon Marguerite tried to sneak off to bathe, but was caught and given a lecture by 'his lordship' about never going out alone, then proceeded to escort her to the pond. Now, she was tired, dirty, and she smelled. She just wanted to be alone.

            The water had never felt so good. As she washed she examined the cuts and scrapes on her hip from the trip down the rocky lane. She would have to ask Challenger if he had some salve to take the sting out.

            She swam around for a few more minutes, enjoying the relative solitude and trying to relax. Roxton sat rigidly with his back to her at the far end of the pond. "Are you almost finished?" John asked impatiently.

            "Yes, milord," she replied mockingly, before adding, "You could use a bath yourself."

            "Is that an invitation?"  he inquired, suddenly in much less of a hurry.

            She rolled her eyes as she climbed out of the water. "No peeking!" she warned as she wrapped a blanket around herself to serve as a towel. She picked up her clothes and went behind the trees to dress. She trusted him with her life, but not to keep his eyes to himself.

            Feeling refreshed and much better, Marguerite puller her camisole over her head and stepped into her skirt. As she picked up the blouse she had strewn over a branch a large hand clamped over her mouth as a blade came to her throat.

            "Don't scream," a threatening voice commanded. Her eyes widened in terror as she recognized the voice. "Long time no see, Margie. Did you miss me?" 

            He removed his hand from her mouth and gripped her waist like a vise. "How did you get here?" she asked frantically. She thought, no hoped, that one of his schemes would have resulted in his death.

            "It's amazing what you can find out from an old man whom everyone considers crazy. Professor Sommerlee is quite concerned for your well being. He said that the last time he saw you, you had been shot in the leg with an arrow." The sinister man let his hand slip down her body to pull up her skirt to reveal a small scar. He then began raising the skirt higher, causing Marguerite to struggle.

            He dropped the hem and wrapped his arm around her once again. "Ah-ah-ah, Margie, behave." He hissed. She felt knife barely slice her skin and ceased any and all movement. 

"What do you want?"

            "What I've always wanted. Now we're going to play a little game, just like old times. The next time you see me, you get to pretend we've never met, which I'm sure you can handle."

            "Why should I?"

            "That is none of your concern." He gave her a little jerk, forcing an involuntary cry from Marguerite.

            "Marguerite? Are you alright?" Roxton called, standing up to check on her.

            "Tell him your fine," he whispered.

            "It's nothing, John. I just tripped. I'll be out in a minute," she obeyed.

            Roxton frowned, not believing her, but deciding to let it drop for now. He had to admit, she had had a rough day. He and Malone weren't light, he thought with a smile as he thought about her at the bottom of the dog pile.

            "Good girl." Marguerite was released and she quickly spun to face her assailant. She glowered at him as he quickly lifted her blouse from the ground with his knife, holding his finger his lips. 

            Marguerite stepped out of the trees still buttoning her shirt with the blanket draped over her shoulder.

            "It's about time, Marguerite." Roxton complained as he approached her. "What happened to your neck?" He reached over to lift her chin to examine a fresh cut, but she jumped away from him.

            "It's fine, I just scratched it on a twig when I fell," she lied.

            Roxton handed her his old handkerchief, "Here, hold this over it. You look a little pale as well, are you feeling alright."

            "The water was cold, and I am a little tired. I'll just lie down for a few minutes once we get back. I'll be good as new in no time. You'll see, John."


	2. New Friend or Old Foe

            The rest of the trip was traveled in silence as Marguerite brushed her wet hair. John Roxton kind of liked watching her perform such a simple task. It seemed so natural.  Touching a woman's hair was a very sensual thing, even more so than kissing. You couldn't just walk up to a girl and start stroking her hair. He hoped someday that he could brush her hair, no matter how silly it sounded. 

            The tree house was quiet when they arrived, much to Marguerite's relief. As soon as the elevator reached the house she swept passed Roxton, heading straight for her room. 

            Challenger was down in his lab playing with one of his latest inventions, and Malone and Veronica had disappeared as well, _who knows what they were up to_, Roxton thought with a smile. _Oh well, it is my turn to cook tonight anyway, and we have fresh raptor meat from this morning's little adventure._

            An hour later the elevator began to rise, bringing with it Veronica, Malone and a stranger. Roxton grabbed his rifle.

            "It's alright, Roxton. We found him camped out in a cave about a mile from here," Malone stated when he saw the gun.

            "Sorry, force of habit," John apologized to the newcomer.

            "It's quite alright, sir. I completely understand. You can never be too careful. My what a lovely home," the stranger said as he stepped further in the room.

            "This is Reverend James Jones, Roxton. He's a missionary," said the ever-informative Malone. John studied the stranger. He was an middle-aged gentleman, about Challenger's age, with graying, thinning hair, and brown eyes. He was clean-shaven, but wore dingy, threadbare clothes, attributed to the months he must have spent in the jungle. All in all, he looked relatively harmless.

            "Lord John Roxton," he introduced himself holding out his hand.

            "The hunter, I've heard all about of you. All of you."

            "From who?" Ned asked.

            "From Professor Sommerlee. He is most concerned about you. He is a delightful person."

            "That he is. We're glad to here he is doing well," Challenger said, joining the little party.

            "The Professor is more than well, he is the man of the hour in London. He has probably been invited to more parties since his return than the queen. I met him at a fund raiser for a church."

            "Well, it's almost time for supper. Why don't you join us and you can tell us all about how old Sommerlee is doing, and what you talked about. We're having raptor stew."

            "Sounds wonderful, Lord Roxton. All I've had to eat the past couple of weeks is beef jerky," Rev. Jones answered.

            "I'll just wake Marguerite, and we'll chow down." 

Roxton walked down the short flight of stairs to the small, secluded area Marguerite had claimed as hers when they arrived here so long ago, almost 2 and a half years, now. He lightly tapped on the wall, standing behind the curtain that served as a door. When she didn't respond he let himself in. It was already getting dark, and Marguerite hadn't lit any candles, so all he could make out was that she lay on her back on top of the covers, fully dressed, with her arm stretched across her face, covering her eyes.

"Marguerite, supper time," he announced.

"I'm not hungry," she retorted.

"We have company, you can't be rude. He may be able to tell us how to get off the Plateau." 

A sense of dread and foreboding settled in the pit of Marguerite's stomach at the mention of a guest, causing bile to rise. "I don't care, I don't feel well," she answered.

"C'mon, girl. Get up for just a little while. You'll feel better once you've eaten something."

She sighed, knowing he wasn't going to give up until he got his way, and stood. "Fine, I'm coming."

"That's my girl." Roxton stepped aside and allowed Marguerite to lead the way to the main living area. When she reached to top of the stairs she froze, staring at the man she hoped she had only dreamt up earlier. The man who haunted her nightmares, and the reason she had come on this expedition.


	3. Dread

Roxton stepped around her, "What's the matter?"                          

"Huh? Oh, nothing, it's just that the light was to bright is all," she lied again. She had a feeling she would be doing a lot of it in the near future.

"Rev. Jones, this is Miss…" Roxton began.

"Marguerite Krux, lovely heiress of the very sizable Krux estate. I've heard so much about you," Jones interrupted, striding across the room and kissing her hand. Marguerite's stomach lurched when he looked up at her.

"That may not be a good thing," Ned teased from the safety of the other side of the room. To his surprise, she said nothing to either man. She simply stepped around the Reverend and went to the table with a very tired look on her face.

The rest of the group followed suit, quietly taking their seats. Marguerite reached for a roll and began to pick at it half-heartedly. 

"Miss Krux, we must say grace before we eat," Jones chastised her. She threw the bread on her plate in disgust, much to the astonishment of her friends.

"Will you lead us Reverend?" she dripped out mockingly. This was a game they had played before, but this time, she had no idea what he was after.

Marguerite was uncharacteristically silent throughout supper, while the good Reverend talked endlessly. He brought news of loved ones to all the explorers, save "Margie," as he started calling Marguerite.

Sommerlee was well and happy, trying to organize rescues. Roxton's mother was well and adored Sommerlee for all the stories he told of how her baby had saved their lives. Challenger's wife attended fundraisers for the expedition rescue efforts, but was convinced that he was having the time of his life, and Ned's paper published articles on the rescue attempts regularly. Unfortunately, Gladys was now married to a Manhattan publisher's son, but Ned didn't seem too heartbroken.

Every time Jones called Marguerite "Margie" everyone waited for the outburst that should have followed, all knowing how she hated nicknames. Roxton had once called her the same name, meant as an endearment, and was completely caught off guard by the boot that nailed him in the back of the head.

About halfway through the meal Roxton noticed that Marguerite looked a bit green and that no more than half of her roll was gone. He was about to ask her if she was all right when she jumped up from the table and ran to the balcony, just out of view of the diners. They could, however, hear her expel the contents of her stomach over the side. As Roxton got up to check on her no one noticed the satisfied smirk on Jones' face. _Serves her right for thinking she could get away from me._

"I hope she is all right," he feigned concern.

"I'm sure she is fine," Veronica reassured their guest. "I'll just make some tea to settle her stomach, and then I'm sure she'll go to bed." She then excused herself to boil some water.

Marguerite slumped forward over the railing, feeling utterly humiliated. She always reacted this way when he made an appearance in her life, expected or not. 

She wasn't surprised when Roxton leaned on the rail next to her. She used her sleeve to wipe her face, still feeling queasy. "You OK?" he asked, studying her face.

"I'm fine, I must have picked up a bug somewhere. I'll just sit out here for a while and get some fresh air."

"I'll join you," he stated matter-of-factly.

"No, that won't be necessary."

He eyed her suspiciously, but conceded, he felt bad for making her get up when she didn't feel well. "All right, but wrap up in this blanket so you don't catch a chill as well, and it sounds like Veronica is making some of her lavender tea for you. I'll bring it out when it ready."

She gave him a weak, but grateful smile as she sat in the lounge chair and he tucked the blanket around her. Then he leaned in and kissed her forehead. "You're acting like an old mother hen," she chided playfully.

"It's good practice," he winked at her as he turned to go join the others.

"Is she alright?" Challenger asked.

"She'll be fine, she has had a really long day, huh Malone?" They both smiled at the memory of her covered head to toe in mud. "She probably has a cold or something."

The breeze was cool, but it did nothing to calm her nerves. She sat with her face to the wind, taking deep breaths. Moments later Roxton returned with cup of tea, which Marguerite eagerly took. After a sip she raised an eyebrow to her companion. 

"I snuck in some scotch when Veronica wasn't looking, I thought it might help you sleep.

"Thanks, and I promise not to tell. I'll be inside in a minute."

"Nope, not until I see you drink every last drop." Roxton sat directly in front of her. She smiled at his coddling, then blew on the concoction and downed it like a shot.

"All done. Now go finish your supper," she ordered teasingly.

"Now who is the mother hen?"

As soon as he was gone she began to feel the effects of the liquor-laced tea, slowing her mind enough for her to relax. Slowly, against her will, she fell into a fitful slumber.

Half an hour later everyone began retiring for the evening. Roxton went to check on "Margie" and found her curled up in the seat. He gently lifted her up, cradling her head in the crook of his neck.  

As he laid her on her bed and tucked her in he heard her mumble something that sounded like "leave me alone," and wondered what she could be dreaming about.

James Jones peeked through the crack in the door of Prof. Sommerlee's old room and frowned. Lord John Roxton could complicate things. He thought he had taken care of Marguerite's tendency of making emotional attachments in Shanghai.

            Warning, the next chapter will be dealing with a serious issue.


	4. Nightmares of the Past

Thanx to the CalGal for her story The Fairy Ring, read it, it's great, and for her idea of Marguerite and her fairy playmates, I hope haven't said too much. It is a must read!

Warning: this chapter deals with _serious_ issues, please do not take offence, it is my explanation for a lot of Marguerite's personality 'flaws.' I don't believe she was born that way.

Statistics say that 1 in 4 people will be physically, emotionally, or sexually abused at some point in there lives. There are five occupants in the tree house, chances are…

An eight-year-old Marguerite Krux sat at her vanity in the room of her uncle's house studying her reflection. She had spent the whole day outside running among the standing stones, playing hide and seek with the pixies. The children of the village thought she was daft and saw things, but the fairies were as plain as the nose on her face. They were the only reason she liked spending the holidays with her guardian, Uncle Frances.

She hated that man. He had been there from the very beginning, in the first memories of her life, where there should have been memories of her mother cuddling her, and her father bouncing her on his knee. She had no memories of them at all, but Uncle Frances was quite adamant about the fact that they had nothing to do with her from the moment she was born until their deaths when pirates overran their private boat off the coast of Taiwan. Then she had been sent to live with this man. No, monster.

He hired the meanest governess' he could find until she was old enough to be shipped to boarding school. She was removed from the first one within a month for cutting another little girl's hair in her sleep for telling her that she was crazy after she had caught Marguerite talking to the flowers in the garden.

The next school was the same. But Marguerite was smart, and soon learned how to execute revenge without getting caught. She was still being kicked out of schools, but the only official reason for it was that she was unable to make friends. Uncle Frances seemed to delight in her mischief instead of condemning her for it, and encouraged her mistrust of others to grow. In one school she had actually made a friend, but as soon as he received the letter in which she told him about her he withdrew her from the school. "At least he can't take the flower people away from me," said aloud. 

She could hear Uncle's 'friends' downstairs laughing, drinking, and breaking things, and feared what the night would bring. It was always the same when he got drunk. The servants would lock themselves away the nights his friends from the pub came, and waited until they were all gone to come out and clean the mess left in their wake, but Marguerite did not have that luxury. She simply prayed that he would pass out before he found her door. She had fought him at first, kicking, scratching, biting, anything to get away, but he was too strong. She locked it once, hoping it would keep him out, but the next day he had the lock taken off the door. She would try to hide, but knew if he found her she would get much worse than what he originally planned. Now, she pretended to be asleep, and praying to anyone who would listen that he would go way.

She heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall, blew out the lamp, and jumped in bed facing the wall, and pulling the covers over her head. When she heard the telltale squeak of the door, she closed her eyes tight.

Marguerite sat up straight in bed, drenched in sweat. She looked around the room, not recognizing it at first. As realization dawned on her the not in her stomach cinched a little tighter. She felt like a little girl again, trapped by this evil man.


	5. The Morning After

Marguerite stayed up the rest of the night. As she watched the sun rise beyond the distant mountain someone came up behind her. Startled, she spun to see Rev. Jones.

"Margie, your up early," he commented.

"Why are you here," she hissed, ignoring his attempt at teasing. 

"Is that any way to talk to your dear uncle?" he asked. 

"You are not my uncle. Now answer the question," she demanded quietly, so as not to wake the rest of the tree house.

"I came here to get you my dear. I was worried," he cooed, reaching to move a tendril of hair.

She swiped his hand away from her face. "Bull shi…" she was half surprised when the back of his hand connected with her cheek.

He then grabbed her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "Watch your mouth, you forget who your dealing with. You wouldn't want something bad to happen to one of your little friends, now would you?"

"Something already has, and your crazy if you think I'm going anywhere with you."

"You don't have a choice. You belong to me, and tomorrow we leave."

Just then Veronica stepped into the room putting  her knives in their sheathes. "What's going on?!" she demanded.

"Miss Krux tripped and hit her cheek on a chair. I was just examining it for her." Jones shot Marguerite a dangerous glare.

Veronica looked to Marguerite for conformation. She turned to Veronica and nodded, a nasty bruise already forming on her face.

"You got that when you tripped!?" she said unbelievingly. 

"Yes!" Marguerite retorted defensively, but not convincingly. Veronica was not inclined to believe her, but chose not to press the issue. Veronica knew there was something about the Reverend Jones that she didn't like, but she would have to wait until she had Marguerite alone to find out the truth. She went to the meat storage box Challenger had made to keep all the meats cold and got out a raptor steak.

"Here, put this on your cheek, it should keep it from swelling."

"Thanks."

"No problem, are you feeling better?" Veronica asked as she went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. While she and Ned were out together they had found a wild turkey nest.

"Yes, much, thank you. I don't know what was wrong with me," Marguerite answered, starring hard at Jones.

"That's good, because we have lots to do today. The raining season is coming and Challenger hasn't perfected his hydropower thingy, the perimeter fence needs maintenance, and there is a squirrel or something that keeps chewing a whole in the elevator's hydraulic system that has to be flushed out. We'll divide up the chores during breakfast."

Challenger and Roxton entered from the lower level of the tree house, Roxton listening to one of Challenger's new ideas, smiling attentively before interrupting, "Something smells good, I guess Marguerite isn't cooking." Before he knew what hit him, Marguerite pitched her raw raptor steak at Roxton. "Whoa, watch out for flying meat," he teased. As he looked up he was shocked by the ugly purple blemish that marred her jaw line. "What happened?" 

"It's nothing, I just tripped."

"How did you manage that?"

"It was dark when I was walking through here, and I bumped into a chair and fell. That's all."

The explanation didn't quite satisfy him, but he picked up the meat and placed it back against her face. "You need to be more careful."

Ned was the last one up, and immediately commented on Marguerite's face as well, but by that time she was tired of explaining and simply shot him a glare. "Touchy, touchy," he whispered under his breath. 

While everyone was seating themselves at the table Roxton slipped into the kitchen to talk to Veronica. "I don't believe her," he stated quietly.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one. Jones was the only up with her when I came in, though. I have a feeling there is much more to their relationship than either of them are letting on."

"I know I'll never get anything out of Marguerite unless she wants to tell me, but do you think you could talk to her?" Roxton pleaded.

"I'm going to try, but I'll have to get her as far away from Jones as possible."

"Do whatever you have to do, Veronica. I have a bad feeling."

Both sat down at the table to eat breakfast and Veronica noticed how silent Marguerite was until Rev. Jones asked "Margie, would you be so kind as to accompany me to my camp and retrieve the rest of my belongings. We didn't get the opportunity to last night because night was falling so quickly."

"Actually, I need Marguerite to come to the Zanga village today. I'm sure Malone can help you," Veronica interjected, fully aware of the strange looks she was receiving from Challenger and Malone, but she also noticed the relief and gratitude on Marguerite's face. Fortunately, everyone was too busy looking at her to see Marguerite's expression.

"Oh, well, I'm sure Mr. Malone would be more than sufficient in assisting me," Jones answered, caught off guard. "Thank you."


	6. To Tell A Secret

The day was beautiful, but experience had taught them that things could change in the blink of an eye. Marguerite and Veronica walked in silence toward the Zanga village, Veronica all the while trying to figure out a way to broach the subject of Reverend Jones. Finally she gave up trying to think of a gentle way, and dove right in. She was never good at beating around the bush anyway. That was Marguerite's style.

"Who is he, Marguerite?" she asked bluntly.

"Who is who?" Marguerite feigned ignorance. This was definitely not a subject she wanted to discuss.

"You know what I'm talking about. James Jones, how do you know him?" Veronica clarified.

Marguerite looked straight ahead along the path, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'd never seen him until before last night."

Veronica rolled her eyes. This was going to be like pulling teeth. "Then why did he slap you across the face, you couldn't have offended him that bad in one conversation."

"He didn't, I told you I tripped," Marguerite stated defensively.

"No, _you_ didn't, _he_ did," Veronica pointed out. "And how about that cut on your throat you came home with yesterday?"

Marguerite self-consciously covered her neck with her hand before she responded; "I tripped by the pond yesterday and scratched it on a twig."

"You've gotten awful clumsy recently, but if you ask me, it looks a lot like a knife cut." Veronica had picked up a stick and gently poked her companion in the side, trying to emphasize her point. She was surprised when Marguerite hissed in pain and jumped away.

Before she could be stopped, Veronica pulled her blouse up to see a dark purple bruise, with distinct finger marks on her waist. "That didn't happen when you tripped," she stated matter-of-factly. "Tell me, or I'm going straight to Roxton."

Marguerite sighed in resignation. _There is know way out now, but I don't have to tell her everything._ "Fine, I'll tell you."

"Who is he?" she repeated her original question.

"His name is Frances Beaumont. He owns a company that ships goods between Southeast Asia and Europe, and he is trouble of the worst kind."

"How do you know him?" It was common knowledge that Marguerite was acquainted with many unscrupulous people, but to let this man beat on her without so much as a fight, there was something else going on.

"He raised me."

"Raised you? We all thought you were raised by wolves," Veronica tried to tease.

"You wouldn't be far from the truth. When my parents were killed in the South Seas on a trip to India I was sent to live with him. Apparently my mother's family didn't want me, and he was _generous_ enough to take me in. He employed the most viscous governess' to care for me until I went to convent, then I spent summers and holidays with him, when he bothered to send for me."

"And," Veronica prompted, knowing there was more.

"When is was fifteen he started taking me to dinner parties and galas, teaching me how to woo my way into people's affections. He taught me the value of power, how to gain it, and how to use it to get what you want. As I grew older and men started to notice me, he had 'working women' teach me how to seduce a men, then he would blackmail my victims. It was all very simple."

"There is a 'but' in there somewhere, isn't there?"

"One night, when we were at a Monaco dinner party, I met the most handsome young man I had ever seen. Darien Michaelson, a dashing, exciting man who matched me whit for whit. He pursued me relentlessly, and I loved it. When we met he called me his 'beautiful peasant girl, waiting for her Knight in Shining Armour.' I thought he was right, too, and when he asked me to come with him to Shanghais, I agreed, and followed blindly, like a love sick little girl. We almost got married," Marguerite smiled at the memory.

"What happened?" To say Veronica was intrigued would have been a vast understatement.

"Two days before the 'wedding' I found him asleep with another woman. I screamed at him, but he didn't say anything, didn't even look at me when I caught him. He just lay with his back to me. In a rage I picked up the first thing a saw, and hurled a Ming dynasty vase at his head. He didn't move, and I knew he was dead. The Chinese woman started screaming murder, so I ran like the coward you all know and love. Frances found me wondering the streets trying to evade the authorities. He was in town on a business trip or something, I don't remember exactly. He placed me on one of his ships, sending me to Paris. It took about two years to get back to Europe, and when I did, Frances introduced me to the first of my husbands. You can fill in the rest."

Veronica didn't ask what happened during those two years, but she made a mental note to do so later. "So what is he doing here, now?"

"He came to get me."

"Why? It seems like too much trouble."

"He spent years molding me into his own image. Now I'm both an asset and a liability. No doubt he has found a new prospect for me to suck dry," she answered bitterly.

"You don't sound to thrilled about it," Veronica commented. Marguerite was always ready to make a quick buck, no matter who got hurt.

"It's not fun being bought and sold like chattel. You can attest to that, I did it to you. I just don't have anyone to save me from my fate like you did."

"What about Roxton? He wouldn't let Jones, I mean Beaumont, sell you to the highest bidder."

"Veronica, I've done things that I'm not proud of, and Frances would be more than glad to divulge the details to John if I ever betrayed him. I would rather leave John thinking the worst of me than him abandoning me because he knows it."

"So you want it on your own terms then, is that it?" Veronica asked, somewhat disgusted.

"A year ago that would have been true, but now I couldn't look into his eyes if Roxton knew the truth."

"Well, at least you are ashamed of the things you've done, which is more than we can say for your friend. Maybe there is a way to get rid of him."

"Well, we can try, just don't let on that you know anything, or he may very well kill you." Marguerite looked away with sadness in her eyes.

"Marguerite, there's something else, isn't there?" Veronica walked around to look her in the eye. Something that she had never seen before surfaced in the older woman's face that reminded her of a scarred, lost little girl.

Marguerite wiped away a tear, ashamed of her weakness. "It's nothing, really."

"Marguerite, I'm your friend, you can trust me."

She looked into the younger woman's eyes, and felt that maybe it was time to tell what had happened all those years ago. "Do you swear never to breath a word of what I'm about to tell you to anyone?"

The distress in her silvery eyes alarmed Veronica. "I pinky swear."


	7. True Colors

The longer Roxton and Challenger were gone from the tree house the stronger John felt that something was very wrong with James Jones. It drove him to distraction as he hunted. Challenger noticed his unease.

"What's wrong, old man? That's three wild turkeys to get away this morning. At this rate we'll be vegetarians for the rest of the expedition," he teased good-naturedly. 

"Have you noticed anything strange about Rev. Jones, Challenger?" Roxton turned to face him.

Challenger looked quizzically at his companion, "No, not particularly. Why do you ask?"

"There just seems to be something off about him. He is very formal with you and me, calling us 'Lord Roxton' and 'Prof. Challenger' and even with Veronica, but he insists on calling Marguerite 'Margie.' Do you remember when I called her that teasing. She nearly took my head off with her shoe, but she never said a word to him about it."

"That is strange, do you think she knows him?" Challenger asked.

"Oh, I think she more than knows him, but you know how she is about her past. She guards her privacy closer than her treasure. But there has to be more to it than that, because there is no way she tripped and did that to her face this morning. It looked too much like a hand print."

"Well, now that you mention it, he does act peculiarly. If he were a missionary, I would think he would be more enthusiastic about this plateau filled with the unsaved."

"Maybe we should go find Ned and Jones. I'd like to ask a few questions." Roxton slung his rifle over his shoulder. "Let's go."

Ned and James Jones arrived at the cave/campsite about an hour and a half after breakfast. Ned was in no hurry to get back to the tree house and find out what Veronica had left for him to do on the infamous chore list. It was his turn on maintenance duty, and he hated hammering the stakes to the electric fence into the ground. As they began cleaning up the campsite Jones went inside the cave to gather his belongings and Ned went to pick up various items strewn on the ground outside.

He picked up a bag that lay near the remnants of the campfire. A hole had been chewed in the bottom of it, probably by a rodent, and a small leather bound book fell through it. On the cover embossed in fancy gold lettering was the name 'Moargan Krux.' 

"Marguerite's mother?" he said aloud. He quickly flipped through the pages of neatly written script, reading bits and pieces. Near the end he read:

December 27, 1890,

Little Marguerite will be a year old tomorrow. Her father is so excited, you would think it were his own birthday. He spoils her to no end with toys and sweets, he will rot her few teeth right out of her head. I was upset that he invited his new partner, Frances Beaumont to the party. That man makes me nervous, and he is constantly calling my baby 'Margie.' I have told him time and time again that is not her name, but he persists. And the way he looked at me the other day when Charles left the room, it makes me glad I'm married.

January 5, 1891,

Charles gave the most delightful surprise tonight. He is taking us to India to see my sister and her husband, a colonel in her majesty's army. Marguerite gets more beautiful everyday and Madeleine will just eat her up. I plan on speaking to Charles about Frances tomorrow, he said something to me completely inappropriate to me and I will not stand for it. I trust Charles to take care of it, he has always done so before.

March 15, 1891,

I found a letter hidden in Charles desk drawer this afternoon when I was searching for a quill. Charles apparently confronted Frances about is behavior. Frances is threatening to sue for defamation of character for accusing him in public of attempting to seduce a married woman, but I am confident nothing will come of it. Charles customers are loyal, and know he would not make unfounded accusations, but Frances is a dangerous man, and I fear damage he could cause.

April 12, 1891,

We set sail yesterday for India, and what a glorious day it was. It stopped raining and the sun came out from behind the clouds, creating the most beautiful view. Little Marguerite's eyes shown with its brilliance as she clapped her hands, bouncing in Charles' arms. Frances saw us off, having apparently reconciled for the sake of the business, and apologizing to me, but I must confess I was not sorry to see him fade into the distance.

            Ned stopped reading and flipped to the end of the journal, where old photograph fell out. He picked it up and was stunned. There were four people in it. The first, a woman, Ned initially thought was Marguerite holding an infant girl in a frilly, expensive baby gown, but upon further examination, spotted some subtle differences. The next was a tall, upstanding man that reminded him of Roxton, not in appearance, but in his stance and the way he carried himself with confidence. He was tall and rugged, with blonde hair, but that was all he could tell in the black and white. The fourth person, another man was a much younger Rev. Jones, which confused Malone at first. He turned the photo over and read the names. "The Krux family, Charles, Moargan, and daughter Marguerite, and business associate Frances Beaumont."

            Realization flooded over Malone as the pieces of a puzzle he didn't know existed began to fall into place. The reporter in him remembered discussing what had happened to the Krux family one night while Marguerite was asleep, after they had first arrived on the Plateau. The ever-honorable Sommerlee had come to Marguerite's defense, telling what he had read in the paper after pirates killed her family. 

He also remembered in certain circles a Frances Beaumont being suspected of piracy in the South Seas around Shanghais and India. He even recalled tales of a silver-eyed piratess who appeared, and just as suddenly disappeared a few years back, which would explain a few things about Marguerite's sword and drinking abilities. 

            Ned placed the picture in his pocket and stood. "I need to find Roxton and Challenger."

            "No you don't" a voice from behind stated, just before the base of his skull exploded in pain and everything went black.


	8. A Vision

This Chapter is for mkrux for her enthusiasm.

***

            Veronica and Marguerite made their way back to the tree house in comfortable silence. Veronica was thinking about the about what she was going to do to their houseguest if she were given the chance, but she respected Marguerite wish for privacy. She wondered what she would have been like had she been in the same position. Veronica doubted she would have held up as well. 

            Marguerite on the other hand felt as if a great weight had been lift from her shoulders. She had never felt so free before, it was amazing. She was practically skipping with the promise that Veronica and the others would find a way to save her from "Uncle" Frances. As the tree house came into view Veronica smiled at Marguerite's uplifted spirit. She was witnessing the person Roxton and Sommerlee always said existed somewhere inside her, but no one else ever believed.

            "It's really quiet up there, I guess the guys aren't back yet," Veronica observed as they boarded the elevator.

            "Good, we'll have some peace and quiet for a change."

            The elevator rattled to a halt, and as Veronica and Marguerite stepped out a voice startled them. Both spun to see Frances Beaumont leaning back in his chair pointing a revolver at them. 

            "Plans have changed, Margie."

            "What plans, Rev. Jones," Marguerite tried to play innocent.

            "You know what I mean, our cover is blown, time to cut our losses and get out." Marguerite had heard this statement many times before, most often before she took to fall for one of his schemes, and it didn't bode well for Malone.

            "Where is Ned," Veronica demanded.

            "That nosey journalist is probably dinosaur food by now." Veronica charged him, but Marguerite caught her by the shoulders when Beaumont pointed his gun at her. "Marguerite, get your valuables, disarm and tie up your little friend, and lets get out of here. We don't want any trouble." He tossed a rope to Marguerite, which she easily caught.

            Marguerite led Veronica to a nearby chair and tied her hands behind her back. "I want to see a tight sailor's knot, Margie." Marguerite sighed and retied her hands, much tighter this time. Then she removed all of Veronica's knives and placed them well out of reach. She had come to a decision, it was time to except her fate.

            "Sorry, Veronica," Marguerite whispered as she bent to tie her legs to the chair.

            "Margie, we need to get moving NOW. Get your stuff, and let's go."

            She did as instructed, moving quickly. The sooner they were gone, the safer her friends would be. She would leave a trail so they could find their way off the Plateau. Before she left her room she scribbled a short note to Roxton.

            As she passed Veronica on her way to the elevator she bent and whispered, "Don't follow us, this is my problem now," and didn't look back at her friend as she descended to the ground.

            Marguerite could hear Veronica scooting across the floor toward her knives. Luckily Frances didn't seem to notice, she feared he would decided to set the tree on fire.

***

            Malone lay on the ground next to the doused campfire with the journal still in his hand. As he fought the darkness that consumed him, a vision flooded into his mind. He stood on the top deck of a ship, with a warm salty breeze bowing through his hair. It was some kind of luxury sailing ship, and very old fashioned.

            No one seemed to notice him as they bustled about, performing their daily duties. Across the deck a young couple was playing with their baby. He recognized both from the photo as Marguerite's parents. As he approached them he could hear the mother cooing to the infant in a thick Irish brogue. She was beautiful, like Marguerite, but not near as cold as his friend. She had a mass of dark curly hair tied back with a blue ribbon, but unruly tendrils still managed to escape and fly around her face, a bright, unhindered smile and shining green eyes, filled with love for her child and the handsome man crouched in front of her, coaxing Marguerite to toddle to him in a smooth British accent. She sat on her knees with her arms outstretched, supporting the infant, who grasped her index fingers, and stepped gingerly forward on the rocking surface toward her father.

            The man was dressed in a grey suit, but the jacket and tie lay across the back of a nearby chair, and his vest was left unbuttoned. His blonde hair shown in the sunlight, and his silver eyes danced as the baby neared him.

            The child was obviously Marguerite. She had the same silver eyes as her father, and were expressive, like her mother's. Her dark hair was just beginning to grow out, and formed finger width ringlets surrounding her face.

            All in all, it was a moment he hoped to experience one day.

            Suddenly, from the crow's nest above he heard someone yell, "Ship off the port bow, and coming fast."

            Those who were not otherwise occupied, and some who were, went to the railing, to see a large, schooner type vessel approach with a British flag flapping in the wind. Everyone waved in friendly greeting as the ship neared and slowed, until it finally halted alongside the smaller boat. Ned watched Moargan Krux back away from the rail nervously, holding her baby close. Little Marguerite sensed her mother's unease and began to fuss.

            "What's the matter, Moargan?" Charles Krux asked.

            "Something isn't right," she answered.

            Ned looked up just in time to see the Jolly Roger unfurl. The skull and cross bones grinned down wickedly at them as Moargan Krux ran for the lifeboat, her husband close behind. He quickly lifted her and the baby into the boat. Before he could board it a gun barrel pressed against the base of his neck.

            Ned stepped around to see the man's face, and wasn't surprised to find a thirty years younger Rev. Jones, or Beaumont, he corrected himself.

            "Get out of the boat, Mrs. Krux, or I shoot him right now."

            "Stay where you are Moargan," Charles told her with warning in his tone. Ned saw the anguish in her eyes as Beaumont cocked the weapon.

            "ALRIGHT! I'm getting out," she yelled as she scrambled out clumsily, nearly tripping over her skirt and dropping Little Marguerite. "Satisfied? Now what do you want," she hissed. That tone, Malone recognized. Marguerite had used it once or twice in his presence.

            "I need Charles to sign this paper," Frances held up a folded sheet threw it on the ground. He stepped back, still holding the gun on them. "Pick it up."

            Charles unfolded the paper and quickly read it. "This is a contract stating that I am selling you my half of the business, I'm not signing it."

            "You can sign it, or you I will kill you and your family."

            "You're going to kill us anyway," Mrs. Krux said obstinately. 

            "Sign it," Beaumont threatened, turning the gun on Moargan. Charles sighed and took the pen offered him by one of Frances grungy companions, but before he could sign, Moargan snatched it and threw it overboard.

            "You wench! You'll pay for that. Lock everyone below deck and sink the ship." He turned away and headed toward his own vessel. Suddenly he turned and, almost as an afterthought, said, "Grab the baby."

            One of the pirates wrenched the crying infant from her mother, eliciting a shriek from both. Charles attempted to rescue Little Marguerite, but a blow to the back of the head rendered him useless. It took three men to drag the distraught woman below. She bit, scratched, swore, and brought curses down on the heads of her assailants as they struggled against her. 

            Malone stood helplessly watching, knowing there was nothing he could do. It didn't take long to get the crew below, and toss the hysterical Moargan Krux through the door, before they slammed it shut and locked it. Then they blocked it with crates for good measure. The pirate ship then fired into the hull. Malone felt the shift of the ship as if began to fill with water, and heard the desperate cries of the people below. Above them all he could hear Moargan screaming for her child.

***

            A faint voice in the distance was calling him. Someone was calling him Neddy boy, who called him that? Suddenly, Malone inhaled deeply and sat up, wide-awake.

            "Whoa there, Malone, take it easy. You've got a nasty bump on your head," Roxton tried to calm him.

            "We have to get back, have to stop Beaumont," Malone attempted to stand.

            "Who's Beaumont?" Challenger questioned, confused.

            "Beaumont is Jones, he killed them, he is going to hurt her," Malone rambled. 

            Roxton took him by the shoulders and shock him lightly, "Slow down, who did he kill, and who is he going to hurt?"

            Malone held the journal and the picture out to them. "He killed Marguerite's parents, I saw it all in a vision when I was unconscious. Then he stole her."

            Challenger took the photo and journal and examined them. "It would appear your new found gift is asserting itself once more, Malone. We had better get back to the tree house, post haste."

            "I knew there was something wrong with him, if he hurts on hair on her head I'll rip his throat out," Roxton mumbled as he began jogging back.


	9. To the Rescue

            She marched, unarmed, though the jungle behind her captor, praying for an opportunity to escape. 

            Beaumont interrupted her thoughts, "Once we get back to the ship we can go straight south along the coast, stop in Brazil, and then go around the cape and head for the Philippines, were the rest of the crew is waiting. Hong Kong is supposed to have some magnificent silks coming out of it this year. They'll be worth a fortune on the black market, and you could make yourself some decent clothes, that khaki getup does nothing for you."

            "So back to the high seas, huh? That salt water air is really rough on my hair," Marguerite replied snidely. 

            "Oh, it wont be for long, just until things cool off in Europe. Some rather unsavory people are after me in London, so I thought I'd get my favorite spy and head for the colonies. You were always so good at getting sailors to tell their cargo."

            Marguerite cringed at the thought of dirty sailors with their grubby mitts. The smell of the harbor pubs with their cheap watered down liquor and smoke make her nauseous. She could almost feel the men pawing at her as she got them drunk and questioned them. It was something she was good at, and had even used this talent to help her friends out of trouble once, which went quite unappreciated if she remembered correctly. Fortunately, her ability to talk her way out of dire straits was gaining more recognition. Especially with the whole 'giant' situation Veronica got herself into.

            Her fate lay in the decision she made today about this man, for better or for worse. Everyone had a defining moment in their lives, and it looked like hers had finally come to pass. She would fight back, she didn't know how yet, but she would rather spend the rest of her life on the Plateau than to go back to the life Beaumont offered her.

Marguerite stepped hard and broke twigs, leaving a trail that Malone couldn't miss. She hoped that they would let her handle this situation, but knowing John the way she did, she doubted it. She had to incapacitate him before Roxton and the others found them. 

***

Veronica watched the elevator rise expectantly, overjoyed to see Roxton's hat peeking over the edge. "Thank God you're here. Someone cut me loose."

They were all surprised to see Veronica laying on her side, tied to a tipped over chair. "What happened to you?"

"Marguerite ties a mean knot."

Challenger quickly found Veronica's knives stuck in a pillar supporting the roof, and began to cut her loose as she explained what had happened. "When we got back he was sitting right over there. Marguerite left with him about two hours ago. What did you find that would have made him so jumpy all of a sudden?" She turned to Malone as she reclaimed her cutlery.

"These, a journal and a photograph. They belonged to Marguerite's mother." He skipped the part about the vision, that story would have to wait. 

Roxton was listening intently to Veronica relate the details of her encounter until he saw the small slip of paper on the table addressed to him. He unfolded it and read:

John,

Don't try to stop me. It is time for me to face my demons, and dark ones they are. I will leave a trail for you to follow off the Plateau, and maybe someday our paths will cross again, but until then, don't forget me. I know I will never forget you.

Your Marguerite

            He looked up to find everyone staring at him. "What does it say?" Malone asked.

            "She doesn't want us to come after her," he replied, not revealing any intimate details.

            "I am not letting that monster take her anywhere, he'll have to kill me first," Veronica stated with more venom than they had ever heard before. It sent chills down their spines. She knew something she wasn't telling as well.

            "Then we are agreed, we go after her now.


	10. The Ambush

            They trudged through the jungle, following the obvious trail Marguerite had left for them, as Ned described his vision. The cold heartedness of what this man had done to Marguerite's family made everyone's blood run cold, and made Veronica more determined to see him pay. 

            Everyone knew better than to talk to Roxton as he ran through the jungle. His stance at the head to he small band spoke volumes as to his current state of mind. _He always blames himself for things that are not his fault, _Veronica thought as she hurried to catch up. 

***

            Marguerite followed Beaumont into a clearing, where he promptly turned and grabbed her hands and tied them together and shoved her to the ground. Then he sat on a fallen log and sighed as his joints popped.

            "Getting soft in your old age I see," Marguerite mocked from the ground.

            "Rickety and decrepit, yes. Soft, not a snowball's chance in Hell. Once we get to the cliffs three miles from here I'll be setting up an ambush. You can watch me pick them off, one at a time. Who would have thought your little trail of bread crumbs could come in so handy."

            "But I told them not to try and stop me, I left the trial so they could find there way off the Plateau."

            "We aren't going in the direction of the way off. I want to get rid of our tail before we get that far. And you know as well as I do that Lord John Roxton isn't going to let you just leave. He is too much like Darien."

            "What are you talking about?" Marguerite demanded.

            "What do you think I mean?" Beaumont sneered as he lit a cigarette. "Your old boyfriend was in the way, so I got rid of him. And pinning it on you, I just think that was a touch of brilliance on my part, don't you agree?"

            "YOU KILLED HIM!?" Marguerite struggled against her bonds, furious to the point of hysterics. All these years blaming her self.

            "Shut up," he commanded, slapping her across the face. "You act as if your surprised, you didn't really think I was going to let you get away from me after spending all those years training you. What a waste."

            The coppery flavor of blood filled her mouth as she sat stunned, hatred seething through her veins. He grabbed her under her arm and dragged her to her feet. "Let's get moving, I want to be ready when they show up."

***

            They reached the cliffs within the hour, and Marguerite had to be forced at gunpoint to climb the steep path to the top. "Your as stubborn as a mule, Margie, why can't you just except your fate."

            "And what fate is that, Frances?" she hissed in return.

***

            "It looks like they stopped here to rest, then continued in that direction. And Beaumont must have finally caught on to Marguerite's trail. There isn't nearly as many broken twigs or footprints leading away," Roxton explained as he examined the ground.

            "I know that area," Veronica interjected. "There are a lot of sheer cliffs and open terrain, a great place for a trap."

            "How do we get around it?" Malone asked.

            Roxton turned to his friends. "I say we split up, Veronica, you and I will circle around behind them, and Challenger and Malone, you follow the trail to the clearing. And be careful, I don't want to carry either of you back to the tree house. Stay behind the tree line."

            As they split up Veronica asked, "Do you think she knows all the things he's done to her?"

            "If she doesn't, I'm going to take great pleasure in extracting each and every confession out of him." 

***

            Marguerite heard her friends long before she saw them make their way through the foliage. _Something is wrong with this picture_, she thought. _Roxton and Veronica never make noise, and wouldn't let the other's make any either it they were hunting._ She would know, she had been hushed enough times. Then it dawned on her what they were up to. She would have to distract Frances long enough prevent him from discovering the ruse.

            Challenger was the first to step out of the jungle, followed closely by Malone. As Beaumont took aim Marguerite screamed, "IT'S A TRAP!"

            Frances quickly fired his rifle as Challenger and Malone took cover, attempting to return fire, but constantly worried they would hit Marguerite. "Challenger, how are we supposed to cover them if we can't shoot at Beaumont?" Malone called from his hiding place. 

            "Fire at the rock below them if you have to, just keep his attention in this direction." They caught glimpses of Roxton and Veronica scaling the rock, just out of Beaumont's view.


	11. The Climax

            It wasn't an easy climb, but finally Roxton and Veronica reached the precipice, rolling over the edge with a heave. "I'm getting too old for this," Roxton huffed.

            Veronica grinned at her companion as she stood and gave him a hand. "It's almost finished."

            They entered the trees and circled around Beaumont, hoping to catch him by surprise. So far, Ned and Challenger had succeeded in keeping him distracted, but flying bullets had a habit of doing that. 

As they approached, Roxton could see even more bruises marring Marguerite's face, and even a black eye. This guy better pray he never got his hands on him.

"I hope we aren't we interrupting," Roxton yelled over the gunfire, cocking his weapon and leveling it at Beaumont's head. 

Beaumont spun around, caught, but quickly regained his composer as he pointed he his own rifle at Roxton. "No, not at all, Margie and I were just on our way home."

"Home's the other way," Veronica hissed as she drew her knife and prepared to throw it.

"I wouldn't do that if it were you, Miss Layton," Beaumont dragged Marguerite closer to him. "Margie might get hurt."

"Let her go," Roxton rasped with emotion.

"But Lord Roxton, you don't seem to understand. She belongs to me, and she has since the day she was born. There is no way I am going to let you take away my most prized possession."  
  
            "No, you mean she became your prized possession since the day you murdered her parents," Veronica stated as she slowly stalked towards him, like a panther stalking its prey.

"Stay back, wench!" Frances Beaumont took aim at Veronica, but as he fired, Marguerite leapt forward and struck his hands towards the ground. Marguerite felt the hot lead rip through her leg as she fell forward. 

Beaumont staggered, taken by surprise, and fell backward, toppling over the nearby ledge. As he fell he grabbed Marguerite, bringing him with her to his death.

"MARGUERITE!" Roxton cried as he dropped his gun and dove for the ledge.

Veronica beat him to her, dangling precariously over the edge holding firmly to Marguerite's bound arms. Below Marguerite, Beaumont clung to her wounded leg, blood oozing down and covering his hand. Roxton leaned next to her and helped her begin to pull both up.

"Don't worry, we've got you," John reassured when he saw the uncertainty and pain in her eyes.

"No you don't!" Beaumont screamed as he pulled a knife out of nowhere and swung his arm back, but before he could drive it home a single shot rang out. Beaumont's face contorted in pain and shock as he fell to the ground below. 

Veronica looked to the trees and saw both Ned and Challenger holding smoking rifles.

When Marguerite was safe at the top of the cliff she glared at Roxton and smacked him across the arm. "I thought I told you not to come after me. You were supposed to wait until he showed me the way off the Plateau!"

Shocked by her outburst, Roxton retorted, "Well excuse me for caring…" Before anything else could be said, Marguerite swayed, and fell in his arms, unconscious.

Veronica quickly disappeared into the brush as Roxton pulled up Marguerite's skirt to examine the wound. There was a lot of blood, and John prayed it had missed the artery. "Challenger, get up here now. Marguerite has been shot."

Both Challenger and Malone ran for the steep trail Marguerite and Beaumont took earlier, and were breathing heavily when they reached the top. "I'm getting to old for this," Challenger stated.

"Try that part," Roxton said, indicating the ledge he and Veronica had just climbed.

"Point taken, old boy," he replied as he knelt to examine Marguerite's wound. "It doesn't look to bad, but the sooner we get her to the tree house and resting the better. I don't want her coming too here. Let's get the bleeding stopped, and get her home."

Everyone agreed with Challenger. Lord Roxton removed his shirt and began tearing it into shreds to make bandages and a tourniquet, and Veronica returned with yarrow leaves to place over the wound.

"I'll go bury the body," Ned said, turning back to the path, wanting to make himself useful.

Veronica stopped him, "No, he isn't to be buried." Everyone turned to her perplexed. "A grave is meant for those who have done something memorable. He has done nothing that needs to be remembered. Leave him for the raptors."

Ned nodded, understanding.

With Marguerite's leg dressed, the small family began the trek home, with Roxton carrying Marguerite gently in his arms, her head resting against his heart.


	12. Back at the Treehouse

A beaten and bruised Marguerite had been lying in bed for three days, and though sore and glad that everyone cared so much about her, was extremely bored. Challenger had given her a clean bill of health after her initial fever had subsided, attributing it to the blood loss and strain of the previous day's events, but everyone doted on her as if she was a small child, and it was really starting to get on he nerves. There had been some highlights though.

Beside her bed lay a journal, telling of Ned's account of his vision, and his promise to keep this story out of his books. She cried every time she read it, mourning for the parents she had lost. On top of the book lay the locket she found amongst her belongings when she was a small child, inscribed with a loving message she didn't dare believe until now.

Veronica lightly wrapped on the doorway, "How are you feeling today?"

"Wonderful, are you going to let me leave my cell today?" Marguerite snapped. 

"That bad, huh. I might be able to convince Challenger to let Roxton carry you out to the balcony today."

"That would be much appreciated. There is only so many times you can sing 'Ninety-nine bottle of beer on the Wall' before it gets tiresome."

"Well, don't get your hopes up, you won't be aloud out of the tree house for at least another week, even if they do extend the perimeter. I'll try to sneak you some contraband though. Assai said they will be making some of the Zanga's Mango wine tomorrow."

Both women were giggling over something when Roxton cleared his throat. "Am I interrupting?"

"No, I was just leaving." Veronica jumped off the edge of the bed and quickly skipped out of the room.

"Don't forget that gift you promised," Marguerite called after her.

Roxton eyed Marguerite, "How's your leg doing?" He walked over and lifted the sheet to look. Reflexively, she pushed his hand away.

"Just fine. In fact, Veronica and I were just talking about going for a hike to the Zanga Village tomorrow."

"You may have to post pone your trip for a couple of weeks. Your not going anywhere I can't carry you for a while. And the trip back the other day really took it out of me. You're a lot heavier that you look."

She grabbed the pillow behind her back and swung it at him full force, "John Richard Roxton!"

"Ouch, watch what you're doing," he griped as he covered his face with his hands. He made a grab for the pillow, but tripped over a discarded piece of clothing, and fell onto the bed next to Marguerite.

They both immediately became more serious as he looked into her eyes. "This is nice," he breathed leaning on his elbow facing her.

"It is, isn't it?" she said with a smile tickling her lips. She sat up, leaning against the wall, and Roxton positioned himself next to her. It was a tight squeeze. "If you make this a habit I'm going to need a bigger bed."

"Hm, I was needing a new project," he teased, hugging her close to his side. Then he became serious, "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"I hope I can answer you question, John," she said quietly, fearing were this might lead. She told Veronica, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to tell Roxton.

"What made you jump in front of Beaumont's gun the way you did. Veronica and I could have stopped him before anyone got hurt."

Marguerite breathed a silent sigh of relief. "I'm glad your confident of that, and I'll remember that next time, but at that moment, all I could think was that he had stolen two families from me, and I was blind to it. I wasn't going to let him do it again, right before my eyes."

Roxton looked into her eyes. He remembered Veronica talking about Beaumont murdering a man Marguerite loved when she was young. The reasons for her running away from him made sense now. He had mixed feelings, sorry for her heart to have been broken, making her afraid to love, an innocent man's death, but he also wondered where he would be if she had never shown up in his life, a thorn in his side and a song in his heart.

"So are you going to tell me about him or not," Roxton asked.

It took a moment for Marguerite to figure out whom John was talking about, but when she did she smiled and said, "Darien was a lot like you, bull headed…"


End file.
